


Quiet Hours

by thesnadger



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Domestic, Gen, Light Hints at Trauma, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, nothing to do but look at cows and have late night conversations, they were in that safehouse for three weeks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-22 13:47:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21303077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesnadger/pseuds/thesnadger
Summary: Martin wakes from a disturbing dream to find Jon sitting up still awake. A small conversation set during the three weeks Jon and Martin were in the safehouse before everything went sideways.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 8
Kudos: 275





	Quiet Hours

When Martin woke up, Jon was already gone. 

As soon as he saw the empty room, Martin knew he wouldn’t find him anywhere in the safehouse. He looked anyway, checking what rooms there were and walking a slow circle around the outside. He moved slowly, taking his time not out of any sense of thoroughness but to delay the inevitable moment when expectation became certainty, when what he’d sensed the moment he woke up was confirmed. 

Jon had left. And he’d taken any trace that he’d ever been there. The bag he’d been living out of, the scattered papers on the kitchen table. Even the empty cigarette package that he’d left crumpled on the floor next to the wastebasket, all were gone. He hadn’t stepped out temporarily, he’d taken his things with him and he wouldn’t be returning. 

Martin found he didn’t feel any need to speculate on why Jon would have left so suddenly, without a word or even a note. There was a logic to it all. Jon had a history of going off on his own, following some plan of his to its natural, likely dangerous conclusion. And Martin had known in the back of his head that those plans probably wouldn’t involve him for long. Eventually, Jon would leave him behind.

He had only hurt himself by entertaining any other possibilities. He had no one to blame for the dull ache in his chest but Martin Blackwood.

A quiet unease crept through him, as if there was someone standing behind him. He didn’t want to look, not because he feared there would be someone there, but because he knew that there was _nothing_ and _no one_, and that was so much worse. It made him uncomfortable in the safehouse, and he went outside.

The sky was dim and overcast and a mist dampened his skin as he walked out. The air had a numbing chill to it, but he didn’t shiver. He was focused on the view. In some ways it was the same as always, green hills dotted with rocks stretching out in all directions. But today there were no animals outside, and a dense fog had gathered on the horizon, obscuring the village from his view. Somehow, Martin knew that even if he walked to the end of the road and pushed through that fog there would be nothing on the other side. Just more empty green. More mist and overcast skies.

It was better this way. Or, no. Not better. Definitely not better. But this was the way it was meant to be. Martin closed his eyes and let the mist gather around him, until he couldn’t feel anything at all.

Then he woke with a start, disoriented, eyes darting around the room. It was night and he was indoors. A sliver of a moon shone through the window. The sky was free of mist. A dream. It had been a dream. Just a nightmare.

Martin kicked free from the tangle of blankets and dragged himself off the futon. He didn’t want to fall back asleep where the dream might still be waiting, ready to take him back to the mist and the quiet and the numbing cold. He’d stretch his legs a little, maybe get a glass of water. Anything that might clear his head.

He was surprised to find Jon in the kitchen. He was slouched in one of the chairs, staring out the window and fiddling with a pen. It was only when he saw Jon there that Martin realized he should have been surprised to _not_ see him in the room where they’d been sleeping. 

A floorboard creaked and Jon started, turning in Martin’s direction with an intense stare that softened as he realized who it was. 

“Just me.” Martin said, raising a hand for a wave and trying to smile. He was still re-orienting himself to the waking world.

“Ah. Yes. I see that.” Jon nodded. “Sorry. Startled, that’s all.”

“Have you not been to bed?” Martin asked.

“Not yet, no. I’m, er, getting some work done.” He gestured vaguely to the table in front of him. “Trying to see if I can work out what we should be worrying about, I suppose. Where the next danger is coming from."

Martin glanced down. There was a pile of old statements that looked untouched--Jon always lost interest after recording, thought for whatever reason he refused to throw them away. Next to them was a yellow legal pad that had barely been marked. A small list of names, question marks and one or two scribbled words were in one corner. That was it, aside from a spot in the margin where something had been scratched out and scribbled over so thoroughly that it was nothing but a dense black square. Martin couldn’t guess what was underneath it. Jon saw him staring and flipped the page over.

“You look like hell, you know.” Martin said. “You shouldn’t burn the candle at both ends. It’ll catch up to you if it hasn’t already.”

“It probably has.” Jon sighed. “What about you? What are  _ you  _ doing awake at this hour?”

“Oh. You know. . . .” Martin shifted, standing in the doorway. “Nightmares . . . trauma. The usual.”

“. . . Ah.” Jon replied. “Right. Of course.”

He looked uncomfortable at that, and Martin shrugged dismissively, hoping to clear the air. “Well, we’ve all been through a lot.”

“Still. That doesn’t make your troubles any less important.” Jon said. His voice was soft and serious, and something about it put a twinge in Martin’s chest.

“. . . It’s only a dream.” Martin said. “Can only do so much about it. Just thought I’d clear my head before trying to sleep again.”

“I see.” Jon gestured towards the chair across from his.

Martin sat down, then gestured at the notepad. “So. . . what exactly are you working on? Any leads?” 

“Oh. . . no, not really.” Jon shook his head. “Just trying to, sort of. . . .” He trailed off, looking at the blank page. “Nothing. Honestly, nothing at all.”

“. . .Oh.” Martin smiled a little. “Well. It isn’t as if you’ve got to worry about being fired.”

Jon smirked at that. “Suppose not.”

“Don’t imagine there’s much to do but wait.”

“Yes.” Jon sighed. “Just keeping myself busy, really. Well, trying to. I, ah . . . .” he glanced off to the side, lowering his voice to a mutter. “I know what  _ my  _ dreams will be like.”

So that was it. Martin knew what he meant, of course. He’d heard the tape Jonah recorded while Jon was dead to the world. 

“I don’t know.” Jon continued, “maybe. . .maybe if I don’t sleep I can . . . give everyone a night off?” 

“Is that how it works?” Martin asked.

“I’ve no idea.” Jon sighed. “It might?”

Martin considered this. “Well. Even if it does, never sleeping again isn’t really a solution.”

“I know, I know,” he reached up and rubbed his eyes. “I suppose I still need sleep as much as anyone else does.”

“Bet that drives you crazy.” 

“At least we’ll both be alert if there’s a midnight attack from some paranormal creature. One that’s fond of the Scottish countryside.”

“Sure. Evil bagpipes, probably.” Martin said. Then he saw the expression on Jon’s face. “No.  _ No. _ You’re kidding me.”

“Statement #9931907.” Jon nodded. “A manifestation of the Slaughter in Lancraig.”

“ _ Bagpipes  _ though?”

“The sound of them, anyway. Not some sort of. . . homicidal wind instrument scuttling along on pipe legs, if that’s what you’re imagining.”

“That was  _ exactly _ what I was imagining, yes.”

“Mmm. The man who witnessed it mentioned how much sheep sound like people _pretending to_ be sheep. I can’t help thinking about that every time I hear one out here.”

“What?” Martin laughed, “that’s ridiculous. Sheep sound like sheep.”

“I suppose I haven’t had enough exposure to tell yet.”

“Well, neither have I. Still.” He shook his head. “Suppose we’ll have plenty of chances to hear them out here. Might be holed up for a while, until some other monster or something forces us out.”

“To be honest, Martin, I think it’ll be a relief when something does.” Jon said. “At least we won’t be waiting anymore.”

Something about Jon’s tone made images from Martin’s dream come creeping back into him, and he frowned. The feeling of the vacant safehouse still lingered. The emptiness in it that had been. . ._deeper than_ a room that simply had no one in it. It was a palpable absence, like the silence after a question or a vacant hospice bed. He found himself focusing on it in a way that he didn’t want to.

Jon must have noticed something because he cleared his throat. “Not that the waiting’s been all that bad,” he added. “It’s quiet at least. And both of us were in need of a holiday.”

“Are you--” Martin hesitated. “I still think you should get some sleep. For the record. But if you’re not going to, would you mind if I stayed up with you? I. . . .” He paused a moment, then decided to be blunt. “I really, really don’t want to be alone right now.”

”. . .Of course.” Jon hesitated, but when he spoke his voice was gentle and sounded sincere. “That’s. . . completely understandable. Given everything. I, ah, I wouldn’t mind the company either.”

Martin let out his breath, surprised at the relief he suddenly felt. Some tension he’d been holding since waking up eased, and he sagged forward in the chair. “Right. I mean, thanks.”

Jon nodded and stretched, checking his watch. “Sunrise is at 6:27 am today. Just a few hours from now. The world should feel a bit safer in the daylight.”

“Yeah. That’ll be nice.” Martin didn’t ask Jon if he’d looked the time up or just Known it. It didn’t seem worth pressing. 

By the time sunrise actually came, they’d fallen asleep in their chairs. Slumped forward on the kitchen table, unconsciously pressing against each other for warmth.


End file.
